


Extremidade Do Mundo

by soundingsea



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Apocalypse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-05-01
Updated: 2005-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:38:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nina doesn't know much about wine, but the label says it's older than she is. No point in keeping the cellar stocked, she supposes. Below ground level, it's probably flooding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extremidade Do Mundo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maren/gifts).



> Written for estepheia's [Friendship Ficathon](http://www.livejournal.com/users/estepheia/460761.html) Spoilers: post-"Not Fade Away". Beta: ironchefjoe. All remaining mistakes are mine.

The rain falls sideways in sheets. Nina leans against the wall of the café, safe under the awning. Her coffee isn't so lucky, and it's not much of a steaming dark roast by the time she pulls it to safety. She stirs it desultorily; not like she was drinking it, rain-enhanced or not.

The café's offerings (vinho, cachaça, of course café, and so on) are written in chalk on a board mounted on easel. Words drip like colorful tears before the wind sweeps the easel, dripping menu and all, down the street. She wonders why they bother with such a menu; this is the seventh day of constant rain.

Today's turbulent storms pound the coastline, far outstripping the season once called rainy. This tumult began the previous May, and with the new year long past, it shows not a hint of abatement. It matches Nina's despair, her loss, and she finds it bitterly cheering.

Strange shapes flit in the night sky; the fearful huddle in their homes. At least, that's the state of affairs in most places, but not here in Rio. It's carnival time, and these people, with their indefatigable joie de vivre, won't let a little thing like the end of the world stop their party.

Nina frowns at the French in her thoughts. She really ought to learn some Portuguese. She's been in South America long enough to pick up some Spanish, enough to fill in the blanks between a come-hither glance and a loveless embrace. But it's a whole new world here in Brazil, albeit one just as doomed as the ones she's left behind.

Her coffee is cold, but she's considering switching to something a bit stronger anyhow. The waiter seems to be hiding inside the café, like most of the patrons, but Nina prefers the salt wind in her face to the stifling breath of frightened tourists.

Apparently, so does the only other patron remaining outside. Not a boy; a man, but slight of build and unlined of face. Only his sad eyes tell a silent tale, speaking volumes about what he knows of age and of loss.

The constant rains dull the scent-sense, but they can't eradicate that tang of Wolf and home. As she glances sidelong at him, he approaches her table and sits, a compact package unfurling itself in a tropical-wood chair.

"Name's Oz," he says. "You?"

"Nina. And despite the name, I'm not pegging you for Australian."

He smiles, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "Naw, I'm from not-so-sunny southern California. And we're got more than that in common."

She nods; he knows what she is, and he knows she recognizes that he's the same. "Yeah: grr, argh. From Los Angeles, myself. Epicenter of the badness." She winces.

"Lost people there?" he asks, leaning forward onto elbows he places with unconscious calm on the rickety table. "Know all about that; I hail from Sunnydale, originally."

"I'm sorry, man. I remember that from the news. When there was, you know, news," she says. A childhood memory of candles and stained glass urges her to add, "Requiem in pacem."

Oz nods. "Could tell you about mine, but it won't make you miss yours any less."

Her brittle laughter shatters the wind-swept silence. "I'll drink to that."

The waiter comes unbidden, a bottle of wine in hand. Nina doesn't know much about wine, but the label says it's older than she is. No point in keeping the cellar stocked, she supposes. Below ground level, it's probably flooding.

Tasting the wine and nodding, she pours some for Oz. Waiter's already high-tailed it back inside. His loss: he misses the show that's presaged by a rumbling, with the distant sounds of samba approaching.

A lost segment of today's parades passes in front of the cafe. Beads and feathers adorn the dancers, who are showing skin despite the wind. Drums keep a steady rhythm as the revelers add their voices to the music and gyrate to the beat. Flamboyant costumes compete with exotic floats, each in turn catching the eye in a dizzying milieu. Sequins and glitter merely accent the beauty of the performers.

Nina drinks, gulping as if reaching for solace in a haze of alcohol. She wonders why she bothered coming to this last outpost of manic energy, of false joy. The crowd appears through a glass darkly, dancing in distorted reflection. She's never felt so alone.

Oz shifts, and she remembers his presence at her side. Not entirely alone, then.

"I did," she says, fueled by the heady wine coursing through her veins. "I lost people: my sister and my niece. And my boyfriend, although I think he knew what was coming. He tried to get us to leave; he always wanted to do that hero thing."

"Saving the world, one pretty girl at a time?" Oz speaks in an absent tone, looking past her.

Nina turns to watch the retreating parade, whose muffled sound is almost inaudible at this distance, over the shriek of the wind. Stilt-walkers follow the floats, tossing flowers into the narrow avenue, before they, too, turn the corner and disappear.

The end of the street is splashed with sunlight, the rain a mere sun-shower. A tiny red-head and her dark-haired companion cavort, water sparkling and multi-faceted in the air, making them shimmer as much as their costumes do. The two women dance, their arms entwined, and kiss before parting again.

Oz looks intently down the street, peering wolf-eyed at the women. His face is inscrutable, and he sits silent and pensive. Then he shakes his head, smiles, and reaches for his glass.

Filling her glass with this ancient wine that tastes of cherries and peppers and tears, Nina asks, "Someone you know?" She sips.

"Just memory," Oz says. He leans back in his chair, the picture of contentment. "The world may end, and we may perish with it, but not alone." He tilts back his head, swallows, and sets his empty glass on the table.

Nina smiles. "To the end of the world," she says, draining the bottle into his wineglass.

**Author's Note:**

> Request: Buffy &amp; Gwen  
> Alternate request: Oz &amp; Nina  
> Prompts: I'd like post-NFA, Mardi Gras or Carnivale, a natural disaster, friends getting drunk together  
> Please do NOT include: no Buffy bashing; no current Angel/Nina if do Oz &amp; Nina


End file.
